


You're All That's Warm In My Restless Heart

by noahcomemidnight



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, B.A.R.F. | Binarily Augmented Retro Framing, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt Peter Parker, Inspired by Twitter, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Endgame, References to Depression, Survivor Guilt, Team Up, Technology, Tired Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, What Have I Done, pre-spider-man:far from home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2019-11-29 12:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18223271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahcomemidnight/pseuds/noahcomemidnight
Summary: “We’ve all… lost a piece of ourselves. But being a ‘superhero’ means putting on the mask, and protecting the people you love, no matter how shitty things get.”Peter Parker is burdened with survivor's guilt, but the feeling vanishes when he realises that you can't be guilty if the person is still alive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Feather on the Clyde" by Passenger.  
> This was sparked because one of my mutuals on Twitter decided to tweet some angsty 'what if's at two in the morning so here we are.   
> This fic mentions depressive and borderline self-inflicted pain tendencies, as well as the beginnings of a panic attack.  
> Finally, I have some other MCU works if you wanna check those out. If you wanna yell at me, you can find me @marvelnmemes on Instagram + Twitter.

“ _If you die... that’s on me._ ”

Mister Stark’s defeated words had echoed through his mind, but he’d been so determined to help, because there wouldn’t be a need for a friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man if there was no neighbourhood left. He’d been so willing and able to assist Mister Stark with the necklace and the wizard, Doctor Strange, that truth be told, he didn’t think of an outcome that didn’t land him back in Queens in Aunt May’s arms.

But there he was.

He had watched with horror as the allies they’d made faded to dust one after another. Peter was beginning to wonder what they’d do now, when a dull, throbbing pain gripped his chest. It was like the ache of the flu, but it grew steadily worse as he felt white-hot, electric pain shoot through his legs as he stumbled forward.

“I don’t feel so good.”

“You’re alright.” Came the bland response, but Peter had noticed the worry crossing Mister Stark’s face. He knew he was very far from being fine, and had glanced down at his shaking hands.

“I— I don’t know what’s happening… I don’t—” He staggered over to Mister Stark, who caught him, thankfully. His stuttering had turned into hysterical babbling as he realised that this excruciating pain he felt… _this was it_.

“I— save me. Save me!”

Clutching on to the strong body of his mentor, he had felt tears prickling his eyes. He’d never make it home. He’d never see Aunt May again. He’d never see Ned or MJ, or swing around Queens with nothing on his mind other than doing good and fighting bad guys, whether it be bank robbers or people like Vulture.

“I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go, Mister Stark, please. Please, I don’t wanna go…”

He could tell he was getting hysterical to the point of no return, and his mentor had spoken not as he’d held Peter close. The tears burned in rivulets down his cheeks, and he grasped at Mister Stark’s sweatshirt, trying to grasp on to something tangible. It still felt like he was slipping. The pain only became worse as he continued to scramble for purchase, his bones feeling like they were being broken over and over again…

Mister Stark had stumbled, before setting him down on some wreckage, a hand on his shoulder, as if to ground Peter and let him know that he wasn’t going anywhere. Through his blurred vision, Mister Stark’s dark, glassy eyes had watched him, and despite his face laying flat, he’d seen the pain mirrored in those eyes. And oh god, if that didn’t make Peter feel even worse, because Mister Stark would blame Peter’s death on himself...

Peter had felt his breathing grow ragged, and the agony of his body was unbearable. But he had swallowed roughly, and tried to be brave, for Mister Stark at least.

“I’m sorry.”

It was pitiful and choked out, but he had to say it. He couldn’t bear to look at his mentor’s face, and averted his eyes, when he had felt the pain finally subside as he drifted away…

  


Peter woke with a sharp gasp, arms flailing and grabbing at his sheets. A cold sheen of sweat coated his body, while hot tears burned his cheeks and blurred his vision. Wiping his eyes and taking in deep, staggered breaths to calm himself, he glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 3 a.m. Only two hours of sleep. Not the worst, but not the best. Aunt May had gotten him a therapist, but there was no amount of not talking that would fix things. Even a year later, the night terrors and memories still haunted him, showing no sign of subsiding anytime in the near future.

What made him feel the worst, however, was the fact that Mister Stark had sacrificed himself to bring Peter and half of the population back. He’d only seen his mentor one last time as they buried his black casket into the cold earth beside his parents.

The therapist had told him it was survivor’s guilt. Peter ignored the therapist. There was nothing that could compare to making Mister Stark blame himself, or never getting to see him again to prove that yes, Peter is alive and well.

So Peter was stuck in the endless cycle of guilt and tears and sleepless nights. Aunt May had wanted to distract him from the shit he was facing, and surprised him by signing him up to travel with his high school to Europe as a fun trip. The last time Peter had been to Europe, though, he’d been with Mister Stark at an airport in Germany…

Sitting up, Peter realised that there was no way he could get back to sleep with all of these thoughts plaguing him. His nights usually ended up like this, and the only possibility of getting back to sleep was listening to old interviews with Mister Stark. Maybe he fell asleep with tears drying to his face, but it at least got him to sleep in the first place. It was either that or going off on a patrol to find law breaking citizens, but right now, he was too exhausted to pull on his suit. Besides, Aunt May would find out somehow and get even more worried about his well being. He didn’t want to worry May more than he already did.

But instead of finding an interview of Mister Stark on YouTube, he pulled up his call history. His last call to Mister Stark’s phone had been three days ago. Well, it was technically Happy’s phone, but it was specifically for Peter and patching everything through to Mister Stark.

Peter hesitated, before calling the number. He knew no one was going to pick up, but then again, no one ever did. Even when Mister Stark _had_ been alive, Peter had always rambled to the answering machine. Since his passing, however, Peter could never find the words to say,allowing his silence to speak volumes.

He still called though, allowing the automated voicemail’s bland words to ease his conscience, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He was far from soothed, however, by the sudden change in the monotone drone.

 

_“The number you have tried to call is no longer available. Please check with your—”_

 

Peter felt his whole body shut down, a numbness sweeping over him. His heart felt as though it had been taken out with one of the melon ballers Aunt May had in the kitchen. Besides his suit and his sporadic photos and videos, there was nothing left connecting him to Tony Stark, or even Stark Industries.

 

He was beginning to wonder the point of anything at all.

 

Over the following weeks, Peter allowed himself to get hit harder. Pushed to the ground. Tased. Beaten. Bloody. Bruised. He just wanted to _feel_ something…

 

After a particularly brutal beating from a group that called themselves the Hand and a brief moment of teamwork between himself and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, he had nearly collapsed upon entering his room. A quick glance in the mirror after tugging the mask off gave it all away— exhaustion was eating at him, the bags under his eyes making him look more like the living dead than a fully functioning human person. His eyes were dull and voidlike, as if a spark had burned out in him, and he was only a shell of who he once was. The nightmares were leaving him progressively more shaken, especially in the more recent days when Mister Stark began accusing Peter of not saving him…

 

“ _Training Wheels Protocol deactivated._ ”

 

Peter was pulled from his thoughts and felt his brows furrow at the sudden remark from Karen, and slid on his mask once more. He was going to ask what she meant, when he noticed a movement out of the corner of his mask’s eyes. He hadn’t felt someone enter the room, so how…? He turned, and found someone moving to sit in his desk chair.

 

“Mister Stark?”

 

The familiar face of the billionaire genius glanced up and gave him a smirk. He could feel the sudden rush of dopamine flood straight to his brain, leaving his head physically pounding. He had so much to say, but was rendered speechless. He couldn’t help the smile that blossomed under the mask or the tears beginning to blur his vision.

“Mister Stark, I— I can’t believe—”

His mentor held up a hand to stop him, before standing from the chair and examining the items littering Peter’s desk idly. He went to touch a photograph that Peter had taken of the two of them together, before hesitating.

“I’ve seen what you’ve been up to. Well, not _‘seen’_ exactly, but I’ve analysed your fight patterns recently along with your vitals, and you’re… you’re not doing so hot, kid.”

Peter ducked his head in shame. Mister Stark knew. Of course he knew. Tony Stark had been known to the world as the man who lost everything— he’d been in Peter’s shoes more than once.

“We’ve all… lost a piece of ourselves. But being a ‘superhero’ means putting on the mask, and protecting the people you love, no matter how shitty things get.”

Peter stared at the floor, trying to blink back the tears. His breathing grew more ragged as he tried to compose himself, and pulled off the mask in an attempt to get fresh air. He could indulge in his sorrows without having to be brave just yet. When he glanced up to wait for anything else Mister Stark had to say, his mentor had already departed to give him space. Peter felt as though his walls of denial finally came crumbling down, but everything could only be built up from there. He now had Mister Stark by his side again to help guide his life back on to some semblance of a track.

 

The billionaire genius appeared now and then, typically waiting for Peter when he came back from patrols, and would even sometimes tap in when Peter was out swinging around Queens at late o’clock. Mister Stark usually heckled him for the abuse and damage of the Spider-Man suit, but would occasionally drop sentiments. Peter would never called him out on those.. Sometimes they’d even engage in mutual teasing.

“Why did you name her ‘Karen’? The only ‘Karen’s I knew had been rule-abiding goody-two-shoes.”

Peter bit his tongue, not wanting to admit to naming the AI in his suit after a Spongebob character.

“I just… it was the first name I thought of.”

“Yeah, okay, sure. I can’t think of one reason why would you name her after a suburban white mom on the local PTA.”

“That’s not a ‘Karen’, Mister Stark, that’s more of a ‘Helen’.”

 

The banter back and forth continued, and Peter never felt happier than when Mister Stark’s voice greeted his ears, even if in a patronizing tone. The nightmares had ebbed significantly, and he was back to finding joy in being a friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. He had caught robbers trying to take Mr. Delmar’s deli. He’d stopped people testing experimental serums like those of Captain America, keeping the number of scientific catastrophes to a minimum. There had even been a few times over the following months when Spider-Man had been able to assist Daredevil in Hell’s Kitchen, and a female Hawkeye in Bedstuy (and, despite being harassed most times by the merc, Peter had to admit that Deadpool wasn’t half bad when they teamed up).

When the mask was on, Mister Stark was there. He was always running analytics on battles and coming in the stealth Iron Man suit to aid in any battles that got out-of-hand, but tried not to appear too much, because he wasn’t ready to reappear in the public eye. He always kept the Iron Man faceplate down and his eyes attentive.

“As much as I would have hated it before, I realise that my lack of appearances is better suited for me in this… part of my existence.”

Peter kept Mister Stark’s secret, and their teamwork continued (but they weren’t a ‘team’, the billionaire insisted, because apparently that would lead to more legally binding mumbo-jumbo than he was willing to deal with). Peter even began an actual internship at Stark Industries, tinkering to his heart’s desire and working toward credit hours to bring to MIT with him in the next year.

His Europe trip was coming up in the next few months, and after one of his patrols, he told Mister Stark about his plans. He detailed the sights he wanted to see on his first actual touristy trip to another continent. He stumbled over himself and tried to explain that while he had liked going to Germany, he just didn’t enjoy the whole inability to sight-see on his first trip to another country. Mister Stark had shrugged, but noted that Peter had seen some more interesting sights— mainly the Avengers duking it out in an airport. When there came a lull in the conversation, Peter awkwardly shifted back and forth on his feet, tugging on the bottom mask in a nervous manner.

“I-I heard that Pepper Potts is going to be in England in a few months for an energy conference with some majour world leaders. Are you… going to be at that?”

“Uh, no.” His brows furrowed, and he crossed his arms, rubbing at his goatee. “I’m not a part of the company technically... anymore.”

“You haven’t told Miss Potts you’re alive yet.”

The conclusion Peter seemed to cause a crease to form between Mister Stark’s brows furrowed. His mouth twitched, as though he were attempting to remain neutral. In the almost eleven months since Mister Stark had reappeared in his life, Peter had never seen any expression remotely similar to it. It was almost a look of confusion and pity.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—”

“Kid, you know that Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing I created?”

The sudden change in subject made Peter blink. He figured Mister Stark didn’t want to talk about Miss Potts, and so Peter indulged him.

“Yeah, the… where you, uh, brought back that specific memory of your parents?”

“Exactly.” Came the brief nod, before he sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now I’d been messing with it a while back and figured, ‘what the hell’ and tried mixing it with components of AI to see the results. It was dicey at first, but I got a decent prototype and produced some software.”

“Is that what’s going to be shown in England?”

Mister Stark gave him an incredulous look, before it melted into one of almost pity. It was the kind of look like Peter wasn’t understanding what he was trying to say. Mister began to pace in his way that wouldn’t set off Peter’s spider-senses, for which the teen was thankful, because his sensory input was acting up from both coming off the excitement of the patrol and trying to understand the information he was being given.

“No, kid, I only put this software in one pet project of mine. I’m… seeing its detrimental effects, and want you to destroy it tomorrow.”

“Mister Stark, you want me to destroy the BARF system? But it could be so _useful._ Imagine _—_ ”

“You’re not _getting_ it, _Parker_.”

The sharp tone Mister Stark used was saturated with frustration, and Peter figured it was causing him stress. With the amount of times the billionaire had his tech stolen or replicated, Peter understood that it must still be so infuriating.

“It fell into the wrong hands?”

“No, it fell into the right hands, but at the wrong time.”

Peter fell silent as his mind tried to wrap around the statement. What did that even mean? ‘Right hands, wrong time’?

“Mister Stark, I don’t--”

“Destroy the tech. That’s all I ask. Please, Peter.”

Mister Stark had never called him by his real name-- it was only ever ‘kid,’ and on one occasion, ‘Pete’. Never ‘Peter’. The confusion of the address to him left his mind churning. It felt so strange to hear Mister Stark using his name that it raised warning bells, but he wasn’t sure why.

“Peter--”

There it was again, in an almost pleading tone, and Peter took off his mask to get a breath of fresh air to help him think. His skin was prickling, and he felt as though his body was slowly being taken over by a static. When he glanced back up to ground himself, there was only an empty room before him. As the panic rose in his throat, a voice came from the Spider-Man mask hanging from his trembling fist.

“I’m not real, kid.”

 

 


	2. OKAY

So I wrote this before Endgame + Far From Home + lemme just say...

_Shit._

I thought this was going to be a wrong prediction, like maybe Tony wouldn't die. Like maybe the B.A.R.F tech was obscure + it wouldn't ever be mentioned again.

But oh, how wrong I was, just like when I posted a fic a long time ago on fanfiction.net (long since deleted as well) where Peter Parker was telling Tony that he didn't want to leave the Avengers (Tony was forcing him to, because he's a sweet child) + told him "I don't wanna go, Mister Stark,  _please"._ Yeah, I wish I kept that one, because it didn't age well either.

Anyhow, hope you enjoyed, and if you need future Marvel predictions I got you. I am the Prophet. The Russos have nothing on me.

xoxo, noahcomemidnight

 


End file.
